


Alone

by Gemmiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Drinking, M/M, The Purge, brotherly dysfunction, coda to 9.13, drinking to excess, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmiel/pseuds/Gemmiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An inebriated Dean texts Castiel for some advice about his relationship with Sam. Coda to 9.13, "The Purge," with spoilers for that episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for heavy alcohol consumption, swearing, and a good many deliberate but painfully awful misspellings.

_You can't stand the thought of being alone._

That’s just total crap, Dean decides as he finishes the bottle of Jack Daniels. ‘Course he can stand it. It's not like he's _afraid_ of being alone. He’s not afraid of _anything,_ really. But he does get pissed off by stupid little brothers who say stupid shit. Dean's the one who took off on his own, after all. It was his idea and everything.

And yeah, he came back, but he’s perfectly okay being by himself. After all, Sammy went to bed hours ago, and he's been just fine sitting here alone in the darkened office. Well, mostly alone, with only Jack for company.

He gets to his feet, ignoring the way the room spins, and looks around for another bottle. There’s gotta be more Jack here somewhere. He knows he had at least one more bottle stashed away. Unless he drank it, that is. He can’t quite remember, but he’s pretty sure he didn’t drink that much in the past few days.

He can’t find it, though, so he settles for a bottle of vodka. Vodka sucks, but Sam keeps it around because he sometimes uses it for girly drinks, like screwdrivers and cosmopolitans and crap like that. Stupid Sam and his stupid girly drinks. Stupid Sam and his stupid shit. 

He doesn’t need Sam. He doesn’t need anyone. He’s _not_ afraid to be alone, goddamnit.

“Shoulda stayed on my own,” he grumbles to himself, getting the vodka open—with a good deal of effort—and swigging straight from the bottle, because why the fuck not? It’s not like anyone’s drinking with him. It’s not like Sam has spent any time with him since he came back to the bunker, oh, hell no. He’s all about keeping their relationship _professional_ now, like they aren’t _brothers,_ like Dean hasn’t been raising Sam since he was knee-high to a grasshopper, as Bobby would say if he was sitting here getting drunk with Dean. Which he isn’t, because Bobby’s dead, just like everyone else in his fucking life, and is Dean sitting here whining about it because he hates being alone? ‘Course he’s not. 

The only two people he’s really close to who aren’t dead or far away are Sam and Cas. Sam won’t exchange two words with him lately, and Cas—well, while Dean was away being poison, Cas ran off to do some goddamn angel stuff. Like hunt down Gadreel or find Bartholomew or some crap like that. Cas is always busy with his stupid angel shit, and he never sticks around long.

Which is fine, because Dean is not afraid of being alone. And he doesn’t miss Cas when he’s gone, and he’s not drinking ‘cause he’s worried about the angel and hasn’t heard from him in too long.

He’s drinking ‘cause he _likes_ to drink, damn it.

He’s not thinking about Cas at all, which is probably why he’s getting his phone out of his pocket. Well, he’s trying to get the phone out of his pocket, in a fumbling sort of way, but the phone just won’t cooperate. Damn piece of junk. At last he manages it. He puts the phone on the table in front of him, turns it on, and types out a message.

_Sma says im fraid of bein alone._

He disabled autocorrect a long time ago, because he hates having a stupid little machine tell him how to write, but fortunately he’s an excellent typist, despite the tiny keyboard, and rarely makes spelling errors. He reads it over, determines the message is clear and typo-free, and hits “send.”

He doesn’t expect to hear back any time soon. Cas is probably busy with, you know, angel shit. But a moment later, the screen lights up with a response.

_**Dean? Are you all right?** _

_Mfine,_ he responds. _Jus me n samy havin a fight. You know._

 _ **Yes, I know.**_ He can almost hear Cas’ long-suffering sigh. _**The two of you fight more than my brethren do. What is it this time? Sam said you’re afraid of being alone, is that it?**_

_Yeh, stupid rite? I like bein lone. Don need him around._

_**You’ve been caring for him since he was a baby, Dean. I think it’s become something of a habit at this point.** _

_Hes nt a baby, hes a big pain in my ass._

_**To use the human vernacular,**_ Cas answers, _**the two of you are often both pains in each others’ asses. Not to mention mine.**_

Dean laughs out loud, because it’s funny when angels swear, and painstakingly crafts an articulate and well-reasoned response.

_Fuc off._

_**Not right now, thank you,**_ the angel responds dryly. _**I gather you wanted to discuss what Sam said, or you wouldn’t have texted me about it. Do you really believe you prefer being alone?**_

_Sure. M a lone wolf, dude. Been stuck wit the kid all my lfie, but that doesn mean i like bein his father figur yu know?_

There is a pause, as if Cas is considering what to say. At last he answers.

_**Dean, I wonder if you have noticed that you tend to collect people.** _

Dean tries to make sense of that, and can’t. Fucking autocorrect, probably screwed up what Cas was trying to tell him. _Collect peple? Like stamps? What the fuck r u talkin about Csa?_

 _ **You are happiest,**_ Cas writes, _**when you have added more people to your “family.”**_ He can almost see Cas making air quotes, and it makes him laugh out loud again, but with a kind of choking sound at the end. Sort of almost like a sob. The damn vodka must've gone down the wrong pipe or something.

_Lkie Kevin, u mean?_

_**Like Kevin. Bobby. Charlie. Garth. Myself. You have little remaining blood family, Dean, but you make up for it by adding new people to your extended family at every turn.** _

_Yeah,_ Dean texts darkly. _An they all die._

_**I am not dead, Dean, and judging from what Sam told me last week, Garth is not only alive but happily married.** _

_Wait a minte._ Dean jabs furiously at the keyboard. _Are u an Sam talking?_

_**Sam has been keeping me apprised of what the two of you have been doing, yes. You are a less than reliable source of information.** _

_U and Sam, talkin behind my back._ Dean feels betrayed, and he doesn’t know why. It’s not like Sam isn’t free to talk to whoever he wants, but…

But Cas is his friend, damn it. Cas has always been _his._

 _ **I have been worried about you,**_ the angel responds simply. _**Sam has been letting me know how you’re doing.**_

Dean stares at the phone for a long time. At last he types, _Cas, i don think Im doin so great._

 _ **I got that impression,**_ Cas types. _**Which is why I am heading back to the bunker.**_

_Dude. Serisly, you arnt texting and driving?_

_**I am a celestial being, Dean.** _

_A celestal bein who cant drive worth shit. Pull over._

He can almost hear Cas’ exasperated sigh. _**As it happens, I am currently in a parking lot. When you texted me, I decided that you needed my full attention. But I will be there tonight, Dean. I am approximately two hours and ten minutes away.**_

Dean rubs a hand over his eyes. They’re stinging with weariness and alcohol and something he doesn’t care to examine too closely. 

_Im not afraid of bein alone, Cas. Im not._

_**I know,**_ Cas answers. _**I don’t think Sam defined your issue precisely. You have been a father figure to Sam for a long time, and I think what you are afraid of is admitting that Sam is no longer a child.**_

_Course hes not a child, hes a fucking Sasquatch._

_**And yet when you look at him, do you really see the man he has become, or do you still see the little boy you raised?** _

Dean sighs, and doesn’t answer.

 _ **As I thought,**_ the angel types. _**It is perfectly understandable, Dean. We angels have a similar problem. We persist in seeing humans as the weak, naked creatures my Father created, rather than the formidable species you have become. It can be difficult to see the light of the present when it is so shadowed by the past.**_

 _Sam was so cute whn he wsa little,_ Dean types, and his eyes begin to sting again. _He used to hug me goodnght, wrap his arms arund me like a freakin octopus. Now he wont evn talk to me Cas._

_**I think he knows that when you look at him, you are not seeing what he is now, but what he once was. You need to learn to truly look at him, to see what he has become. The two of you will never really be able to get along otherwise.** _

_I jus want things to go bck to teh way they used to be._

_**The past is in the past, Dean. You have to learn to accept Sam for what he is now. He is a full grown adult, and you must learn to treat him that way. You know this, but you do not want to accept it. You keep—adopting people, for want of a better word, to try to fill the void that Sam left behind when he grew up. And you still treat Sam like a child.** _

_Sammys a big baby. He needs me to portect him._

_**Sam is a fully competent hunter, Dean, and he saves you as often as you save him.** _

Dean remembers Sam finding him, all but passed out on a burlap bag full of sweet potatoes, and he sighs.

 _Yeah,_ he types slowly. _He doesn realy need me any more, does he?_

_**He doesn’t need you to save him, Dean. But he does need you as a brother.** _

_He said he doesn wan to be brothers any mor._

_**He doesn’t want you to act like his father any more, Dean. He wants you to treat him as an equal, that’s all. He is no longer the little boy you raised, and hasn’t been for a long time. Look at him, Dean. Really look at him.** _

Dean puts the phone down and rests his head in his hands for a long moment. At last he gets to his feet, wobbling a bit, and pushes the vodka aside. He shoves the phone back into his jeans, and makes his slow and unsteady way up the stairs. He staggers down the hall, pausing at Sam’s door, which is slightly ajar. Reaching out, he gently nudges it open.

The room is dark, but the rectangle of light from the hallway illuminates his younger brother. Sam is sprawled out in bed, fast asleep, his enormous frame so long that his big feet hang over the end of his mattress a little. He’s wearing an old gray t-shirt and sweatpants, and Dean stares at him a long time, remembering the cute little boy Sam once was. He'd been an adorable kid with a grin so wide he looked like a little piranha, overgrown bangs hanging messily into his eyes, his nose stuck in a book every time he got a minute to himself. Sam had been a shrimp till he hit adolescence, small enough for Dean to carry on his back...something Sam had loved and had clamored for every time he was a little unhappy.

Dean's still willing to carry Sam on his shoulders, but for the first time he looks at his brother and accepts that he just can’t do it any more. Little Sammy is gone, long gone, and all that’s left is Sam.

In his head, he hears Sam's angry voice. _You think you're my savior. My brother, the hero._

Sam doesn’t want Dean to carry him on his shoulders. He just wants to stand on his own two feet.

He ought to feel proud at the realization, ‘cause that’s how he raised Sam—and he _did_ raise Sam, really, because John Winchester was too often nowhere to be found. He raised his brother to be a man, to be proud and independent and strong. So why the hell does it bother him that Sam grew up to be everything Dean wanted him to be?

He knows the answer. What bothers him is simply that Sam grew up.

He sighs, and turns away. Sam, he thinks, was wrong. He’s not afraid of being alone. What scares him is that he’s beginning to realize he's lost his direction, his purpose. He’s always defined himself in relation to Sam: _Save Sammy. Protect Sammy. Take care of Sammy._ But his brother isn't "Sammy" any more, and he certainly isn't little any more. Sam's every bit as competent as he is, and a damn sight bigger. And he deserves to be treated like an equal.

But Dean is still freaked out. Because if he’s not Dean Winchester, Sammy’s big brother, then what the fuck _is_ he?

He’s not sure. But he figures it’s time-- _past_ time--to find out.

And maybe, just maybe, if he's not totally focused on protecting Sammy--no, _Sam_ \-- 24/7, he might have a little more time to figure out how he feels about the other people in his life. One person in particular. Not that he'll ever stop loving Sam with his whole heart. But he thinks maybe he's got room in there for someone else, too.

The phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out as he walks down the hall, and sees the message on the screen.

_**I’m coming home now, Dean.** _

His eyes sting again, but he smiles anyway, and types out a reply.

_I’ll be waiting for you, Cas._


End file.
